


when grace seems far away

by Meridas



Series: warm, unalone (come settle down) [8]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Genderfluid Mollymauk Tealeaf, Introspection, Other, Queerplatonic Molly/Yasha, Queerplatonic Relationships, Slice of Life, background Molly/Caleb relationship, bad days and emotional support
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:07:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25028986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meridas/pseuds/Meridas
Summary: Molly has a bad day. There's a home waiting for him.
Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf & Yasha
Series: warm, unalone (come settle down) [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1607398
Comments: 6
Kudos: 77





	when grace seems far away

**Author's Note:**

> Just a small thing that came from spending several days in a funk and projecting some comfort onto the good circus kids. Title from "One of Those Days" by Gabrielle Aplin.

Molly has never been more happy to see the lights on as he drags his way into his and Yasha’s apartment. His day has… well, it sucked, in a million small ways that he could shrug away most of the time, but for some reason today they’ve made him feel like he’s the smallest poke away from crying.

Yasha looks up at the sound of the door closing, and immediately sets her book aside. Molly barely gets his keys back in his coat pocket before she’s pulling him into a hug, and he leans into her with pure relief.

“Come on,” she murmurs, her hand large and warm as she rubs circles on his back. She doesn’t ask anything, just steers him gently into the bedroom. Molly’s throat feels tight, and he would love to greet her back and start talking like it’s a normal night, start dinner and kick his spirits back in gear, but he doesn’t have the energy. He just lets Yasha take his coat, and coax him into the pajamas that she hands him. The sweatpants are his own, with the little hole for his tail in the back, but the worn-soft t-shirt smells like Caleb. Molly spends a second with his nose pressed to the collar, knowing that he’s about two seconds away from losing the battle against the stupid tears. 

Yasha just bundles him under the covers and pulls him into her arms again. The room is comfortably dim, with the familiar sounds of their home around him. Yasha’s breathing stays soft and even as her hand strokes slowly up and down his spine. Molly tucks his nose into her shirt and just breathes, wet and shaky for no _gods damned reason_ , and Yasha just squeezes him close and lets him cry on her for a while. 

At one point after the tears run dry, Yasha jostles him a little bit. “You hungry?,” she murmurs. "It’s okay if you don’t feel like it, but it might make you feel better.” 

Molly hums, then clears his throat. “Yeah,” he manages. “Yes. Please. In a little bit?”

Yasha kisses the top of his head with a quiet hum of acknowledgement. He manages to doze off for a while, feeling heavy and lethargic but not quite able to fall asleep. Yasha’s hand drags through his hair, slow and steady. Her voice is very soft, familiar and soothing, and she hums quietly and aimlessly as he drifts. 

Eventually the hollow feeling in his stomach feels less like existential sorrow and more like normal hunger, so Molly lifts his head from the pillow nest. He feels a little better, clearer and calmer than he did when he first got home. He bumps his horn gently into Yasha’s shoulder as he pushes himself free of their comfortable blanket cocoon. “Thank you,” he murmurs, and Yasha just smiles. She kisses his forehead, then pushes him lightly ahead of her toward the kitchen. 

Molly drags one of their many throw blankets with him, wrapping it around his shoulders like a cape. Following Yasha’s insistent little nudges, he boosts himself up on the counter in their narrow little kitchen. He lets himself zone out a little, carried on the familiar sounds of Yasha humming while she cooks, interspersed with clanks and scrapes and the occasional mutter as she reminds herself which ingredient she needs next.

He jumps back to focus when Yasha presses a warm mug into his hands. Molly looks down, sees his favorite mug piled so high with whipped cream that he’s not sure what he’ll find underneath it. The smile that pulls at his mouth feels heavy but worth it, and growing lighter. He kisses Yasha on the cheek, then tucks the cup closer to his chest and watches her work. 

A year ago he can’t say that he had a favorite cup. Things like that didn’t last long at the carnival, always getting lost when they had to pack up again in a rush. There were some things that were easier, certainly—a year ago when Molly felt this way he would outrun it, chase an instant of sensation until any bad feelings dropped away behind him. Untethered and unbound, telling himself that very state of being that he loved didn’t also scare the shit out of him. 

He watches Yasha cook, and thinks about the things he has here that make him happy. It’s a different list than he had back at the carnival, but it’s a good list anyway. Outside the small kitchen window, the sun has long gone down and the lights of the city flicker in its place. He can pick out familiar clusters like a map of the night sky, like he can navigate the city by the Pentamarket rather than a north star, by the gleam of the Constellation Bridge and the light at the top of the Zauber Spire in the distance. He thinks about it for a moment, then adds it to his list. It’s alright to feel familiar here. It’s a good thing to let this place feel like home. 

He takes a deep drink from his cup—it’s hot chocolate underneath, made with dark baking chocolate and some vanilla and not quite enough sugar, the way Yasha makes it any time they have fancy dark chocolate around. These days, that’s more often than not. And he has a favorite cup, that he gets to keep in a cupboard and use every day. And he has friends here—he has friends who are fun and weird in the best ways, he has a boyfriend who leaves his sweaters at Molly’s apartment and would let Molly call him right now if he wanted to, even if he had nothing to say, if he just wanted to hear Caleb’s voice. He has people here who make this home.

And at the top of his list, always, always, he has Yasha. 


End file.
